


Calculated Risk

by Ponaco



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Drama, F/M, Family, Gen, Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 10:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4096708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponaco/pseuds/Ponaco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The turtles final confrontation with the Zhao corporation. Part three in the Click-series</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: This chapter marks the start of the third installment of the Click-verse: Calculated Risk. It takes place a few weeks after the last installment of A Winter Interlude and starts with a Donnie POV. I promise some more angst, fluff, action, and horrible things done to characters I love in the next few chapters ahead. If you've stuck with me for this long let me just say I appreciate it and hope you like what I have in store. :0) Enjoy!

"All right, man. You got this! One more!" Raph says, his voice near enough to a growl and his fingers hovering mere centimeters away from the bar. "Come on! Don't wimp out on me now!"

A growl of my own builds in my chest, a guttural, almost animalistic sound that ends in a deep cry followed by the clang of the weight bar hitting its mark. My hands slide from the metal bar and hang limp at my sides, brushing my fingertips along the floor. Raph lets out a whoop of encouragement and grabs hold of my wrist to heave me bodily up to sitting. He slaps me across the carapace with a dull thud and I can't help but grin back at the excited gleam in his eyes even though my arms are the consistency of jelly and every muscle in my chest and shoulders cries out from the abuse.

"Not too bad," I murmur, snagging the towel from the end of the bench to wipe the sweat from my brow. "Soon I'll be lifting more than you," I add with a smirk.

"You're doing good, D, but let's be realistic here," he replies with a snort, picking up a dumbbell for a few bicep curls as if to prove his point.

"Can't hurt to have goals," I mumble.

I clench my teeth as I pry open my fingers. An all-too-familiar bolt of pain shoots up towards my elbow and I open and close my hand until it dulls to a stubborn ache. The scars along my wrist and fingers are still tight and my grip nothing less than clumsy. I try not to focus on it, on any of the things I can't change. My hand is never going to have the dexterity it once did. I'd be lying to myself if I said otherwise. I can't change it, but I can change other things. I can lift weights with Raph. I can get my strength back and then some. No one is going to make me feel weak ever again.

_You've got a long way to go. Raphael was shot and he can still lift more than you. You need to work harder._

"I think I've got another set in me," I say, draping the towel over my shoulders.

"I'll have to take a raincheck on that," Raph replies, dropping the dumbbell to the floor. "I'm supposed to meet Casey at the rink in an hour."

"For what?" I ask, trying not to sound annoyed and failing miserably.

He slowly tilts his head in my direction. I squirm awkwardly under his stare. He doesn't let up, leaning against the bar and narrowing his eyes with a smug smile that makes me want to punch him.

"What?" I snap, regretting it the instant the smile turns into a predatory grin.

"What's got you wound so tight?" he snickers, the sound of his laughter setting my teeth on edge. "Is this how you're going to be every time April isn't around, 'cause I'm not sure if I can stomach that."

Her name is like a strike to the chest and I recoil, not ready for the assault. I forget my annoyance and anger and roll my shoulders forward. It's a stance of weakness. He caught me off guard that's all. I straighten almost immediately. I grasp for a snarky reply or an aloof chuckle, as though it's some secret joke between the two of us, but only manage a half-hearted shrug. The noncommittal response pushes his smug grin into something just as loathsome; a concerned frown.

"You better get moving if you think you're going to make it to the ice rink in an hour," I mutter.

He grabs hold of my wrist before I can slink away to the safety of my lab. I consider pulling out of his grasp. He might be stronger than me but I'm quicker. I could probably make it to the lab and close the door before he even reached the stairs. His grip tightens and I know escape is an improbability at this point. It would be more trouble than it's worth. I take in a deep breath and the sigh that follows makes my shoulders slump.

"What?" I ask again, this time the word more an annoyed plea for release.

"I was only teasing," he says and the there's a tiny hint of pity to the words that makes my spine bristle.

"I know," I reply.

"You guys, I mean, everything is all right? Cause she hasn't been around lately," he says, tripping over the words and looking as though he regrets each and every one.

_She hasn't been around since you made an utter ass of yourself at dinner in front of her Dad._

"She's just really busy," I say, clearing my throat. "Finals are this week and her graduation is coming up. She's just really busy," I add with a forced smile when he looks less than convinced. "We're fine. Honest."

_Just think of this as practice for when she moves to Chicago._

"All right, good," he says, finally letting go of my wrist. "She should come over when she's done with her school stuff. Mikey has been hounding Leo to let him invite the Doc's granddaughter over and ya know, might be easier if April and Casey are here the first time she sees the lair. Soften the blow or whatever."

I nod and actively avoid his gaze which is quite the simple task as he is trying to do the same thing. "Right, yeah, of course."

He slaps me across the shell once more with a grunt of a laugh. "Good workout, man," he says, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck from one side to the other. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Sure," I say.

He punches me in the shoulder and lumbers off towards his room to avoid any further conversation that borders so closely to discussing our feelings. I'm grateful for his hasty retreat. While I appreciate the sentiment Raphael is not who I want to turn to with my fears and doubts. His idea of comfort is usually an awkward punch or sarcastic, cutting remark. He means for it to lighten the mood, or at least I hope he does. In the end it usually just ends in me feeling worse about myself than when we started.

_What do you expect? You're not a child. What, you want him to coddle you and make all the bad things go away? Grow up._

The lair is suspiciously quiet as I make my way to my bedroom. I can hear Mikey's muffled laughter behind his closed bedroom door. I leave him to it. I don't need to bring anyone else down with my bad mood. I start to uncoil the wraps around my wrists and hands, dropping them into the small laundry basket at the foot of my bed. I need a hot shower. I'll feel better after a shower. My T-Phone sits on the bedside table, the green light blinking to signal a missed text.

**Are you still training?**

April. Raph wasn't exaggerating when he claimed that she hasn't been around lately and I wasn't exactly lying when I said she was busy. The school year was winding down and with it came all the obligations and milestones that went along with it. We still texted and talked on the phone, but the conversations were usually brief and acted more as play by plays of the time spent apart than any real conversation. She would describe all the things that made the end of her senior year exciting and scary and I would listen and reply with the same, mundane tales of my day. Trained, worked in the lab, patrolled, worked in the lab, slept…sometimes.

I try to live vicariously through her stories, through her experience, but each new milestone and special day is like another twist of the knife. I can feel the jealousy rise in my chest to leave a bitter and shameful taste in my mouth. It's all a painful reminder that she's leaving soon. That she's growing and changing and moving on. She's going to grow into a wonderful, smart, successful woman. She's going to grow up and grow away. It happens with most people our age, why wouldn't it happen with us. Master Splinter tried to warn me. It doesn't matter. I wouldn't have changed a thing. I'll always have these last few months. Even if she goes away and I never see her again, at least I'll have my memories. Nothing can take that from me.

**Just finished**

I text back. I move to set the phone down, but she's already texting me back.

**Can you come over?**

I stare down at the words and run my thumb over the screen where they sit as though that will make them somehow more real. The longing to see her is something I can't ignore. It burns at the core of me and sends my heart hammering in my chest. I might only have a couple more months with her and I'm not about to spend them sulking in the sewers. I text her back and take a quick shower to wash away the grim of my training session. The air is warm and sweet above ground, clinging to those last few precious days of late spring when the temperature has yet to bake the pavement and ruin the scent of new leaves and budding flowers.

My sore muscles make the trip across the rooftops slower than usual and I'm close to exhausted when I reach April's building. She's sitting on the ledge when I drop down beside her. She turns slowly, a smile spread across her face and her hair hanging down across bare shoulders. She's wearing a blue sundress with little yellow flowers and a ribbon in her hair. I instinctively reach out to run my fingers across the satin ribbon and wish that I could see it shimmer in the sunshine instead of the moonlight.

"Hey," she greets me, throwing her arms around my neck and leaning in for a quick kiss. "I was starting to think you weren't going to show."

She says it with a teasing smile but I can hear the lurking sincerity and worry behind the words. "Sorry," I reply, nuzzling against the warmth of her cheek. "We had a long training session. I'm moving a bit slower than usual."

"No worries," she says, her fingers lingering over my forearms before trailing up to my bicep. "You've been training a lot lately," she murmurs, giving my arm a squeeze. "Not that I'm complaining," she adds with a smirk and a wiggle of her eyebrows.

I can feel my face warm with a blush and I'm a stuttering, awkward mess of vowel sounds in an instant. She smiles a kisses me once more.

"I have something to show you," she says, breaking apart to sift through her purse before handing me an envelope.

"What's this?" I ask, holding it away from my body in case it might explode or bite.

"An acceptance letter," she explains.

And just like that the warmth is sucked from the air and the giddy feeling in my chest twists into a painful knot. The envelope feels like a brick in my hands and I can't bring myself to look down at it. If I don't look maybe it won't be real. She scoots over to press against my side and I can feel her watching me expectantly.

_Say something. Don't be a jerk. She's excited. Act excited. Don't be selfish. This isn't about you. Get over yourself. Don't ruin this for her!_

"That's, uh…that's great, April," I say quietly. The words sound far off and muffled to my ears and I can't be certain that I spoke them at all so I clear my throat and add. "Congratulations."

"Aren't you going to read it," she says with a small nod towards the envelope.

I take in a sharp breath and force my gaze down. I move my thumb across the embossed emblem along the top of the envelope. It takes an embarrassingly long stretch of seconds for everything to come together into coherent thought. I blink and run my finger over the emblem and name and return address.

"NYU," I murmur, biting my lip to look up at her.

She greets me with a smile and a nod. "Yup and I have enough scholarship money to make it work and they have a really great program and…"

I cut off the rest of her words with a hug that might be just a bit too tight. She laughs and squiggles in my crushing grip. The sudden wave of relief is short lived and panic grips me like a vindictive undertow. I grasp her shoulders and pull back to force her gaze.

"This is what you want?" I ask. "You're not…I mean…this is what's best for you? You're not…settling or, or making this decision for any…any other reason…"

"This is what I want," she says, reaching up to take hold of my face. "It's a great program," she smiles and there's an earnestness behind her eyes that speaks the truth of it. "I don't want to leave New York. This city is my home. I belong here."

I pull her towards me once more. She nestles in against me, her arms wrapping around my waist as she rests her head in the crook of my neck beneath my chin. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting the scent of her fill my head. The bitterness and anxiety of the last few weeks melts away and there's only us and the warm breeze and the far off scent of flowers on the air. No matter what happens no one can take this away from me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: An April chapter this time around. Fluffiness ahead, enjoy it while it last as angst will be here before you know it :0)

"So, I'm going to pick her up at eight," Mikey says for at least the tenth time in the past hour as he darts and weaves throughout the kitchen. "It should take us about a half an hour to get back here, so if you could turn the oven off at like, umm, 8:20…"

"8:20, you got it," I reply with a confident nod. "You can count on me," I add when he starts wringing his hands in the apron tied around his waist.

"Good, thanks," he mumbles, rolling his teeth over his bottom lip. "I really appreciate it, April. I just…I want things to be perfect tonight."

I try not to squeal and grin at the absolute adorableness of the situation and instead offer another nod in solidarity. "And they will be. You have nothing to worry about."

He bites his lip and bobs up and down on the balls of his feet. The nervous energy is coming off him in waves, making it near impossible for him to stand still for more than a few seconds at a time. He's already wiping down the table again and straightening the place settings once more even though they couldn't be any straighter. It's endearing and adorable and makes my heart feel warm and heavy with pride. My little brother is all grown up. Part of me wants to hide him away and keep him young and innocent forever. The other part sees the way his eyes light up when he talks about her and it makes me want to shove them together like I'm playing house and have them live happily ever after forever and ever.

"Right, yeah, I'm not worried," he replies with a shaky grin and an even less convincing laugh. "I just want everything to be perfect."

"Something smells good," Donnie says from the doorway, taking in a deep breath as he crosses the kitchen.

He's fresh from the shower and I can smell the light tang of soap clinging to the deeper scent of warmed skin when he leans over to kiss my cheek. His arm lingers around me and I lean ever-so-slightly into the half-embrace. I reach up and take hold of his arm so he can't pull away. We haven't been able to spend much time together lately and I'm not about to let go when he's actually at my side.

"Mikey is making lasagna," I say, puffing up with a proud grin. "And garlic bread."

"Everyone likes lasagna, right?" Mikey replies, flailing in an attempt to reach the knot at the back of his shell. "I mean, I guess some people might not, but…"

"She'll love it, Mikey," I assure him as I slide from my stool to help him with the apron straps.

I carefully fold the red-sauce-splattered garment and hang it on the oven door. "You should probably get going," I add with a little nod up towards the clock.

His eyes widen into perfect circles and he takes in a sharp breath, holding it in his puffed out cheeks. "Yes, I should," he says, his eyes narrowing as if he's preparing for a particularly serious mission.

He squares his shoulders and ducks his head before darting from the kitchen with a few, quick strides. I laugh only when I'm certain he is out of earshot and clutch my hands in front of my chest.

"That is just the cutest thing I think I have ever seen," I say in an excited whimper.

I twirl to face Donnie who is currently leaning on the counter and trying with very little success to reach and scratch a spot towards the center of his shell. I watch him twist and shimmy for a few more seconds and instantly rethink my earlier statement about cuteness. I scoot over towards him and run my knuckles over the offending spot on his carapace. He goes straight in an instant and the initial little surprised yelp quickly turns into a happy sigh when I continue my work along his shutes.

"Better?" I ask.

"Mmm, much," he murmurs, leaning forward and giving a slow wiggle of his hips I'm certain he isn't aware of doing.

I smirk and run my knuckles along the dips and grooves, moving in a circular pattern. "Were you training with Raph again?"

"Uh huh," he mumbles, letting out another sigh that is dangerously close to a moan.

I trail one hand up from his elbow to shoulder, pausing to trace the curve of his bicep. "Well, as long as you don't plan on getting all huge and boxy," I say with a dismissive and teasing sigh. "I like you long and lean."

The comment is met with a snort of a laugh as he hides his face in his arms. I feel the blush burn from under my collar up to the tips of my ears. "That's…not what I meant," I gasp, punching him in the shoulder. "You sir, have a dirty mind."

He chuckles in reply and gives a wiggle of his hips. I roll my eyes and give his shell another once over with my knuckles before playfully smacking the side of his thigh. The resulting surprised yelp makes me smirk and I move over to the oven to check on Mikey's lasagna. Donnie sighs and when he straightens up he's wearing a little smile and sleepy-looking eyes. I know he's been training harder than usual lately, putting in extra hours with Raph lifting weights. He looks exhausted and I decide it is my goal for the evening to make sure he goes to bed at a reasonable time; even if that means cutting my visit short.

"How do you think tonight will go?" I ask, glancing inside the oven window before turning the heat off. "Mikey seems nervous."

"I know, it's weird," he replies, reaching over my shoulder to lift up the corner of the cloth covering the garlic bread. He frowns when I swat his hand away. "It'll be fine though. Tia is nice. I think you'll like her."

I stick my butt out to push him away from another attempt to steal a slice of bread. "Stop it!" I insist, unable to keep a laugh at bay. "That's for dinner."

"But I'm hungry now," he whines.

"Then grab some crackers or something! This is for dinner."

I see the smirk start before it even reaches his mouth. It grows from an evil glint in his eyes that wrecks any chance he has of a believable poker face. I dart to the left and let out a triumphant whoop as I successfully block him. He's not about to give up. His long arms are a serious advantage, but I'm quick and he's sleepy and I'm not above playing dirty if I have to. I snag the basket of bread and climb up onto the counter before he has the time to stop me. I dance out of his reach and shimmy my hips in a taunting wiggle.

"You think a little counter can stop me?" he asks, puffing up his chest and laughing maniacally. "I scale buildings!"

"Talk is cheap," I reply with another wiggle. "Seems your still down there and the bread and I are safe as houses."

He grabs my ankles and wraps around my calves to lift me off the counter. I squeal and clutch the basket to my chest, not wanting to drop a single piece of bread. I thwap the top of his head with my free hand but it's futile and only elicits an evil cackle in response. Wiggling and thrashing proves just as useless. Another undignified shriek escapes my mouth when he nuzzles up the bottom of my shirt to blow a raspberry on the ticklish skin of my stomach.

"Ah! S-stop!" I plead, struggling to catch my breath through my laughter as he renews his assault.

I don't know what's gotten into him. Donnie certainly isn't dour or overly serious, but the last few months have been a struggle and moments of unabashed silliness have been few and far between. I don't know what has brought this on. I'm not about to discourage it. I lean away from him, arching my back to reach for the counter before dropping the bread basket onto its surface. He tries to snag a slice and I take the moment of distraction to pull his mask up and over his head. I grip it tightly in my hand and wave it around like a flag.

"Hey!" he cries, attempting to keep his grip on my legs while reaching up for his mask at the same time.

I slip from his grasp for one, pulse-pounding second and I take in a sharp breath when he catches me around the waist before my feet hit the ground. He chuckles, the sound reverberating through his chest and crinkling the corners of his eyes. I long for those rare moments when I can see him all of him. I know his mask, just like with his brothers, is an inseparable part of who he is; the thin pieces of material chosen by Master Splinter for reasons beyond my comprehension. It is such a rare thing to see him without it I try to memorize each and every centimeter that is normally hidden from view.

"Hey," I whisper back, reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down for a kiss.

"Did you turn the oven off?!"

Mikey's shrill voice makes me jolt forward, smacking my forehead against Donnie's. I barely have time to register that my feet have hit the ground as a green and orange blur pushes me aside to frantically investigate the oven. I rub my head and pout in his general direction.

"Yes," I say, sure that I'll have a welt in the middle of forehead come morning.

Somehow Mikey is already wearing oven mitts and pulling the pan of lasagna out for closer inspection. I try not to take his mistrust personal, he's nervous. Of course he's nervous. How could I forget?! I twirl around, knocking into Donnie's shoulder but paying him no mind. Tia is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, gripping the strap on her backpack as though it were a lifeline. I'm not sure what I expected her to look like. I suppose I didn't have any idea, really. Mikey never did go into specifics and trying to get any information out of Donatello was like pulling teeth. She's short, probably struggling to get over five foot, with curly black hair and big brown eyes.

"You must be Tia!" I say excitedly, clearing my throat and trying to regain a tone of voice that won't make a dog wince. "I'm April," I introduce myself and grab her hand as she continues to stand and stare much like a deer in the headlights. "It's so nice to finally meet you."

She seems to snap out of her haze and shakes my hand. "Oh, you uh…you're Donnie's girlfriend, right?" she asks.

I can practically feel the heat of Donnie's blush behind me. "Yes," I say with a smile a blush of my own burning across my cheeks at the small word.

"Michelangelo, are you going to introduce me to your friend?"

We all straighten up instinctively at the sound of Master Splinter's voice, even Tia stands a little taller. Mikey pries off his oven mitts and barrels over to stand beside Splinter in the doorway. He bows and sweeps his arm towards Tia.

"Sensei, this is Tia. Tia, this is my father."

He looks between the two of them with the big, hopeful eyes of a cartoon woodland creature. Tia shifts her backpack onto her other shoulder and holds out a tentative hand. To her credit she doesn't stare too much. Splinter bows and gently shakes her extended hand.

"Welcome to our home, Ms. Fienstein."

"Thank you for having me Mr. Hamato," she replies with an awkward little bow of her own. Her eyes go wide and she pulls her bag to the front to search through the center pocket. "My grandfather helped me pick this out," she says, pulling a wrap hunk of cheese from the bag. "He said it's a really good kind."

Master Splinter's nose twitches and a tiny smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Thank you, that is very thoughtful," he says, taking the offered cheese with another bow.

A weight seems to lift from Mikey's shoulder at the small exchange and by the time Sensei leaves us to our dinner Mikey is grinning and bouncing around like his usual carefree self. Tia helps him serve up the lasagna and I can't help but smirk when I hear him whisper to her about not having to call Sensei mister. Dinner is a lighthearted and undeniably delicious affair. It takes a while for Tia to come out of her shell, but by the time dessert roles around she's joking with Mikey and eagerly helping him pick out a movie from the boys' sizable collection. She's sweet and quick to laugh and I can see why Mikey likes her.

I scooch over on the couch as Donnie presses up against me. He blinks and tries to stifle a yawn with little success. I snag a pillow and rest it across my lap. I give a small tug on his shoulder. He doesn't take much convincing and is soon spread out across the couch. His eyes drift closed and his breath evens out, whistling quietly through the gap in his teeth. I lean over to give him a quick kiss on the tip of his nose, not wanting to wake him up, but unable to resist. I let him sleep through the entire movie, if there's anyone who has earned a good night's rest it's him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: Sorry it has been such a long time between updates. Real life has just been rather...unpleasant lately and it has as a result drained any of my energy that I need to write. That aside I have made an effort to write this weekend and to update this story in particular. Tonight's installment is a little short, but even that is a win in my book considering my struggle to write lately :0) Anywho, here's a Raph chapter this evening. Hope you enjoy it!

Raphael

"He was offsides," Casey grumbles, weaving the orange plastic puck between the ventilation tubes and AC units. "He couldn't have been any further offsides if he tried. The Ref wasn't even looking! There's no way he didn't see it. He might as well…"

I tune out as Casey continues to rant about the injustice of the officiating during his last hockey game. He'll go on for hours if I let him. He'll try even if I don't let him. I lean over the roof's ledge, trying to create a crime by force of will alone. I need to punch something. More accurately I need to punch someone; a criminal someone who has it coming. My hand closes into a fist as the alley remains empty. Can't even count on the criminal element of this city to show up to get their asses kicked. Casey is staring at me now, why is he staring at me?

"What?" I grumble, pushing away from the ledge.

"I asked you a question," he replies, crossing his arms and leaning against the nearest vent looking maddeningly smug.

I roll my shoulders back and curl my lip. I'm not in the mood.

"Then ask it again or don't," I say with a shrug. "Just stop smirking like ya caught me stealing or something."

He snorts and shoots the orange puck across the roof with a flick of his wrist. "I asked if you got a good look at Mikey's girl."

It's my turn to snort. "I'm out here so I wouldn't have to be around for that," I reply, rolling my shoulders as a scowl settles on my face. "And I wouldn't call her his girl. Her grandpa is a reptile vet. You think she's hanging around for anything but some sick curiosity?"

He is staring at me again. I feel a growl build in my throat and ball my hand into a fist at my side. "What?"

The smirk is back and I know I've walked right into his trap.

"Do you spend all of your time thinking up new ways to be a buzzkill?" he asks, his smirk faltering when I punch him in the side. "Ow, damn it, it was a joke, lighten up," he says, rubbing his ribs with a wince.

"I thought jokes are supposed to be funny," I reply, getting a snort in response.

Guilt starts to creep up from my guts when he continues to hold his ribs with a pained grimace on his face. Sometimes I forget he's not as sturdy as my brothers. I roll my eyes and grumble incoherently under my breath as I cross the few feet between us. I didn't hit him that hard. He's just being a baby. I rest a hand on his shoulder.

"Aw, come on. I didn't hit you that hard," I insist, trying not to sound like I'm mocking him.

He mutters something and I lean forward trying to catch any of it. "What was that?"

I see the smirk and it's too late. His fist connects with my jaw, snapping my head back. I stumble a few feet more out of surprise than from the actual force of the blow. He's cackling like a deranged hyena, the obnoxious sound ending in a whistle between his missing teeth. My lip curls back and I spit onto the ground. He's going to regret that. I tackle him around the chest delighting in the way the sudden whoosh of air leaving his lungs cuts off any further laughter. We land in heap on the gravely rooftop and the gloves are off. I won't feel bad about hurting him this time. He shouldn't start shit he knows he can't finish.

"I'm gonna knock out the rest of your teeth, Jones!" I bellow, easily avoiding a flailing kick aimed at my head.

"Like to see ya try!" he replies, cocky until the end even as I pin him to the ground. "Ah! You weigh a ton! Get off!" he cries, kicking and flailing.

I press down on his back with my knee and flex my arms in celebration. "Still undefeated champion!" I cry, making fake crowd noises before slapping the back of his head. "Raph! Raph!"

"You're a…a cheater, never would have won…in a fair fight," he grumbles, still trying to scramble out from under my knees.

"Ha, and what's a fair fight? One you could win?" I ask with a snort.

He's managed to flip over onto his back and I see where he's attempting to aim his knee before he even raises half-way. I roll away and sweep his leg as he stumbles to his feet. He lands in a jumbled heap, cursing my name and everything else he can think of. I'm about to tell him where he can shove his insults when voices from the alleyway below catch my attention. I can't understand what they're saying, but the language is definitely Chinese. I ease over to the building's edge and glance down, careful to stay in the shadow of the AC unit.

There are three of them, two men and a woman huddled around the open door of an unmarked white van. Their voices are soft, but hold an unmistakable edge of anger and anxiety. One of the men lugs a metal box from the building beside the van, dropping it with a thud. My eyes narrow at the brief flash of a logo painted black and brazen onto the side of the box; the Zhao-Brandt Corp. I feel a growl start low and steady in my chest and I grip the ledge of the building to keep from dropping into the alley and destroying them where they stand. Casey is still blathering on behind me and when he takes a swing I grab hold of him and clamp my hand over his mouth.

"Shut up," I hiss, pointing with angry, jabbing movements towards the alley below.

He stops fighting and his eyes widen as he follows my gaze. I slowly relax my grip and he falls in line beside me, already searching the rooftop for his scattered hockey stick and baseball bat. My hands tighten around the hilts of my sai, the leather molded to my grip. I teeter on the edge of the red place. I can't fall forward. No matter how much I want to. I need to keep a clear head. Rage isn't the answer. Not this time. I have to be smart. I have to be precise. I give a quick nod towards the fire escape before vaulting over the ledge.

I don't have to worry about Casey. Not much anyway. He might not be a ninja but he has his own way. I slip into the shadows and land silently on the pavement. I crouch behind a dumpster and raise my sai to the ready. If I move fast enough I can grab that box without them even seeing me. Doesn't mean I won't give them a few hits on the way. It's the least they deserve.

"Oh, hey are you guys movers? That's uh, that's awesome cause I'm getting a new apartment and I could really use a moving company."

What the hell.

"Leave," the woman snaps, clearly as annoyed with Casey's nonsense as I am.

"I can pay," he insists with a laugh. "I ain't asking for a freebee. You got a van, I got some cash to spend. It's a win win situation, sweetheart."

The loud click of a gun's hammer pulling back makes me think she doesn't appreciate being called sweetheart. I race forward, hitting the first guy in the jaw with the butt of my sai. He goes down with a loud smack against the pavement and doesn't seem to be moving anytime soon. His buddy rushes towards me, fumbling to pull his own weapon. He's too slow. They're always too slow and soon he joins his friend in a motionless heap on the pavement. The woman is quick to the trigger. The memory of being shot is still too near and even the sight of the gun makes my scars ache.

I dodge the first bullet and rush towards her with a guttural cry that is anything but human. She tries to get off another shot but I knock the gun from her hand and quickly send her to the ground to join it. I'm in the red place, every muscle tensed and coiled and ready to attack. I should have gone easy on them. They're probably just delivery guys. She just had to pull a gun. She had to push me over the edge. I grind my teeth and push angry bursts of air through my nostrils as I search the alley for someone else to fight; anyone else. I need to hit something. I need to hit someone. I am not weak. I'm never going to let anyone make me feel that way again.

"Whoa, easy, Raph. It's over man."

I whirl around with a growl at the sound of Casey's voice, my grip tightening on the handles of my sai. He takes a step back and hold up his hands. There's something in his eyes, something I've never seen before. It isn't quite fear, but it is dangerously close to it and the mere possibility of it pulls me from my freefall. I loosen my grip and relax my jaw, stumbling back to avoid stepping on the unconscious people beneath my feet.

"I…I'm…sorry. I just…she shot…"

"Yeah, I know, trigger happy, right?" he says with a chuckle that doesn't ring sincere.

I swallow and slide my weapons back into their holsters with a quick nod. I need to go. I need to not be here. I need to get away from him and that stupid, concerned, kicked puppy look on his face. I don't need his pity. I'm fine. I got this. I wouldn't have had to charge them at all if he didn't bust in like some idiot and confront them. Really this is all his fault. I trudge over to the van and heave the box into my arms with a grunt.

"What the hell were you thinking?" I demand, not taking care that he's standing in my way when I push past. "They could have shot you!"

"Hey, I was distracting them so you could steal the goods," he replies with an indignant scoff. "You're welcome by the way."

"You're welcome, he says," I mutter, searching the ground for the nearest manhole cover. "You almost got us both killed."

"Pfft," he says with a spitty raspberry and dismissive wave of his hand. "Don't be so dramatic. You got the box didn't you? And nobody got shot."

He sidles up alongside me and leans over my shoulder for a better look. "What's in that thing anyway?"

I push him off and scrape my foot along the ground to clear some old newspapers and dirt from the sewer lid. "I don't know. We'll take it back to Donnie and he can open it in the lab where it's safe."

I shove the box into his arms, smirking as he almost buckles under the weight. Prying the lid open I slide down the ladder and reach up to carry the box the rest of the way. My nerves start to settle a bit more when I hear the scrape of the sewer lid slide into place and we're covered in darkness. I can feel the claustrophobic press of the bowed walls and the dripping echo of water down the old brick-covered tunnel. It sounds like home. It feels safe and familiar and every step we make towards the lair brings me further away from the red place and the loud pop of gunfire.

"Maybe if we're lucky we'll catch a glimpse of Mikey's new friend," Casey says with a lecherous grin. "I bet she's got a nice rack. Mikey strikes me as a boob guy."

"Real classy, Jones," I mutter, hoping for Mikey's sake that his friend has already left.

The lair is quiet when we push through the turnstile. The TV is on in the pit but the volume is turned down low. April glances up as we walk over, giving a sleepy wave before raising her finger to her lips in an effort to keep us quiet. Donnie is stretched out on the couch, a blanket spread over him and his head resting atop a pillow on April's lap. He's snoring quietly and in that moment I decide the box can wait until morning.

Casey follows me to the lab. I set the box on one of the long, metal exam tables and take a step back. He mimics my quizzical look and starts tapping his finger along his jaw in thought.

"What do we do with it?" he asks, leaning in close as if that will provide an answer.

I slap his hand away as he lifts it with the obvious intent of poking the container. "We'll leave it in here. Let Donnie figure it out in the morning. It'll keep."

He stares for a couple more seconds before shrugging his shoulders and throwing his hands up in defeat. "Yeah, let him figure it out," he says, obviously already bored with the entire situation. "You wanna play table hockey?"

I cast one more nervous glance at the box. There's nothing else I can do about it tonight. It's not like I would know the first thing to do with it anyway. That science garbage is Donnie's thing. He'll know what to do. No point in sitting here all night staring at it. I shrug and roll my shoulders back before cracking my knuckles.

"Why bother? You know I'm going to kick your ass," I reply with a grin.

His eyes narrow and he shakes his head with a laugh. "You wish. Casey Jones cannot be beat on ice or table. You're going down."

I tilt my head and our eyes meet. The game has already started. He yelps in indignation as I dart towards the door. I'll win the race and then I'll win the game. If only to rub his face in it later.


End file.
